


Worknight

by Desiderii



Category: Black Jewels - Anne Bishop, James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Assumes You Read The Books, Crossover, F/M, M/M, Politics, Pretend Sex as a Cover for Political Intrigue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 08:49:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desiderii/pseuds/Desiderii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Hayllian delegation from Dorothea is in Chaillot, whispering in vulnerable ears and undermining M's Court. The Hayllian envoy has a secret, however, and it's up to Bond to extend her the offer to become a double agent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worknight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marlowe_tops](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marlowe_tops/gifts).



> Written for [marlowe_tops](http://archiveofourown.org/users/marlowe_tops/pseuds/marlowe_tops), because I promised a Bond-in-BJT that was under 10k words. This was written with the assumption that the reader has a relatively solid grasp of the BJT world and the general political landscape in the years set just after _The Invisible Ring_ by Anne Bishop. Fair warning that this will make very little sense without reading that book in particular. 
> 
> Rank, Caste, and Court position for each Skyfall/Bond character are in the end notes.

After a slow drag on his cigarette, Bond flicked the embers into the snow. Light spilled from the open balcony doors, accompanied by the dissonant strains of the quartet retuning their instruments after the heat of the dancers had relaxed the strings. A woman and her night's escort leaned against the far end of the railing speaking quietly, but otherwise he was left alone.

Bond held the smoke in his lungs for a long count of ten before releasing it through his nose along with a measure of his annoyance. He was on his second cigarette. His target, the Hayllian envoy Lady Severine, was most likely wondering where he’d gone. Leaning back on the railing, he rested his elbows on the icy stone and waited for Q.

Feting the delegation from Hayll meant that M's guest list included anyone who was anyone in Beldon Mor and a good number of those who aspired. More than one of the not-yet-someones had found their way to his side to attempt to flirt and impress. The ambitious nature of the flattery aside, it was almost a pity he was assigned other tasks tonight or he might have enjoyed playing a few notes from some of M's longer pieces, drawing one of the local witches into his bed and sounding her out regarding the High Priestess' encroachment. He sought a glimpse of the Hayllian envoy. She was in higher demand tonight than he, if only just. 

Lady Severine held court at the center of the party, a gracious guest of honour with a comment and smile for each who approached her. Bond took another long pull from his cigarette, the tip flaring. He studied her dark, slender limbs as she gestured in the air while she spoke. Her gold eyes flashed as she laughed at a joke murmured in her ear by one of M’s Third Circle. Those who earned ‘Dorothea's favorite’ status often hid corruption behind a sweet face, pretty poison in a shapely vessel. Her touch lingered on the jaw lines of the men around her, their shoulders, the center of their chests. She leaned to whisper into their ears only to draw back with secrets in the curve of her lips. 

He could lose her if he remained outside much longer. Q was cutting things rather fine tonight.

Silhouetted against the doors as he slipped out of the party, Q came to lean on the railing to look out over the gardens. A slender man with dark, curly hair and dark stubble that marked him out among the blond-haired, blue-eyed Chaillotians, Q had taken Bond's advice on the waistcoat he wore beneath his exquisite suit. The choice made a flattering outfit positively devastating. Bond greeted him with a small salute, First Circle to Steward.

Q’s breath misted the air as he returned the gesture, then gave an ostentatious shiver. “I shall never understand what you see in those.” Q threw a sidelong glance at Bond's cigarette, though Bond did not acknowledge that he'd heard. “Especially since they bring you out here, of all places. I would have expected you glued to the Lady's side. Instead I must join you here where it is positively freezing. I cannot even see your face.”

Bond suppressed a smile. “Her chaperones were getting antsy at my presence. Neither of them are sure of my intentions.”

“You do have a reputation.” Q told him dryly.

“As well I should.” Bond tapped ash over the side of the balcony and he leaned into Q's space, bridging the distance between them to place a hand on his wrist. Pitching his voice low, he said, “I've earned it.” In the concealing dark, Bond traced the cuff of Q's shirt just peeking from beneath his jacket sleeve, victim of a loosening cufflink.

Bond met Q's eyes to find their corners crinkled in amusement and an unaffected grin spreading across his lips. Huffing out a laugh, Q stepped back from the railing to shove his hands into his armpits. “Before you ask me if I need to be warmed up, need I remind you that you are bound for the Lady's bed tonight at M's request. Our distinguished guest might take insult if you returned to her well-kissed.”

“If she’ll have me.” Bond returned to leaning back against the railing, accepting Q's logic and checking once more that they were alone. The couple from earlier had moved back inside to escape the cold. Switching to a spear thread just in case, he sent the query, _*Do I have an offer for the Lady?*_

 _*Confirmation came while you were dancing. For all she is one of Dorothea’s current favorites, Severine is a bit of a wildcard. Vicious and ambitious, yes, and she keeps her mistress on her toes, but she never goes so far as to constitute a true threat. She draws focus. Before tonight, we didn’t know why.*_ Q returned to the railing, putting a bit of extra distance between him and Bond, just enough to make a point. _*Severine’s sister is a Queen, extremely likely to be dark-Jeweled when she Descends and - as far as we can tell - Dorothea has yet to find her.*_

 _*A Hayllian Queen?*_ Bond didn't betray his surprise, keeping his eyes on Severine where she danced with a Warlord from one of the provinces. _*Dark enough to rule the territory?*_

Satisfaction flooded the thread and Q sent, _*A suspected Blood Opal Birthright, but we could only confirm her parents' Jewels.*_

Bond’s eyebrows rose. 

_*Precisely. Our offer is this: The Gray Lady will place the girl-child and her parents beneath her protection in exchange for the Lady Severine’s agreement to become our agent within the High Priestess’ court.*_

_*The Gray Lady provides M her new Steward and agrees to harbor Hayllian refugees on our behalf? Are the favors she asks in return going to bankrupt the territory?*_

_*I think she sees taking me on as a disproportionately large favor and she’s trying to clamber out of M’s debt. I am,*_ Q told him, his mental tone mild, _*considered rather a nuisance in Dena Nehele.*_ He turned back toward the open doors and tipped his head to indicate the woman just stepping onto the balcony. _*Moneypenny has the contract.*_

“Lady Eve.” Bond turn his cigarette butt to ash with a small flare of his Red before giving her his full attention. “Enjoying the party?” 

“Prince.” She smiled at him, offering her hands in greeting.

The transfer went rapidly. She called in the contract to settle in Bond’s upturned hands a moment before they touched. At the brush of parchment, he vanished the only reason he was still standing out in the snow. He completed the greeting, pressing their palms together. He felt the scrape of her long nails on his wrists before she pulled away and flicked a glance at the Hourglass pendant attached to her Purple-Dusk. He tasted her amusement a moment later, a faint psychic pulse. She met his eyes and smiled faintly. 

Repeating the formal greeting with Q, she then turned to regard Bond. She gave him a professional once-over, raking him with her eyes, before nodding. He’d do. She asked, “You’re not cold?” 

“Freezing.” 

“Then what are you doing out here?” 

“Pre-coital cigarette.” Bond flashed her a smile that she did not return.

“You’re hopeful,” she said. 

“Confident.”

“Cocky.” 

“Well recommended.” He looked to Q for confirmation. Q waggled his hand side to side and made a face. Bond’s lips twitched. “Nevermind. Don’t ask him.”

As intended, Moneypenny laughed, but it was a half-despairing sort of laugh and not at all up to her usual standards. After a beat of silence, Q gave an indelicate snort and adjusted his glasses, sharing a look with Bond before turning to offer his arm to Lady Eve. “Shall we?” he asked, gesturing indoors where it was warm. “All the confidence in the world won’t help you if she’s already in bed with someone else. She’s here to make contacts, not waste her time.” 

“You speak as though I have competition.” Bond replied, though he moved toward the doors even as he spoke. They headed in, Moneypenny leaning into Q’s shoulder and patting his arm reassuringly. 

_*She’s worried.*_ Q sent.

 _*Do you blame her?*_ Bond stepped close in on Moneypenny’s other side, shoring her up with his presence. _*Another home threatened by Hayll? I daresay she has reason.*_

They entered the ballroom three abreast. Though Q turned heads and Bond earned his fair share of speculative glances, it was Moneypenny who prompted a handful of her young Sisters forward to greet her. Bond stepped back and left them to it. Moneypenny stayed linked with Q as the young Black Widows crowded close to jostle for their Lady’s favor, her refusal to let him drift out into his own cluster of well-wishers the only outward sign of her concern. 

Bond watched them for a long moment. They cut a fine figure together, Moneypenny’s subtle curves accentuated by the champagne dress several shades lighter than her skin, and Q’s whipcord grace flattered by the rich contrasts of that waistcoat. Bond was rather proud of that particular suggestion. Q should wear blue more often.

More of concern, though, was how far they’d come. She was a Shaladorian refugee who’d risen to Lead the Hourglass Coven in Chaillot, and he a very young, very foreign Warlord pulled immediately into the morass of running one of the most prosperous territories in Terrielle. Dorothea’s world had no place for witches and warlords like them, clever and competent and so very threatening to a woman who ruled through fear and corruption. Q would end up one of her boytoys. His artless grace and delicate build would set him apart, make him a target, and even their combined skills would be hard pressed to keep him from her clutches. Q’s genius would be swamped by the inexorable creeping rot of Hayll, where brute force and promises of power were the weapons the High Priestess best understood. After a male was Ringed, there were only so many years of sanity left.

He was just turning to lift a glass from a passing tray when M’s dry amusement found him. _*I don’t care if you knob his brains out, but do it on your own time. For now, stay focused.*_ Her distaff-to-spear psychic thread made very clear her exasperation. _*The Lady just finished with her dance.*_

He pulled his eyes away from Q’s trim form and his mind from ill thoughts, turning to find her glowering at him across the room. Lightly, he responded, _*How did you know I was just thinking about sex?*_

Among such dignified company, M did not roll her eyes, instead shooing him toward his target with a severe frown and a waggle of her fingers. Her attitude helped him shake his unease. He grinned into his glass as he tipped it back for a long drink and sought the Lady Severine. 

Bond waited at the edge of the dance floor near the other Hayllians. When Lady Severine parted with her most recent hopeful after their dance, he beckoned her over and handed her a champagne flute.

Drink in one hand, she leaned hard on his arm and fussed with the straps at her ankles. “Beldon Mor has the most delightful boutiques, but you would think I should know better than to purchase new shoes on the eve of a dance,” she said, watching him from under her lashes. Bond braced her with a hand on her waist and admired the cut of her dress. She wore a slinky black dress that swept past her calves and her Summer-Sky was nestled between her breasts. Using him as a support turned into brushing her hips against his when she regained her balance. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d found someone more interesting for the night.” 

“I was under orders not to monopolize you,” Bond lied easily. He kept his eyes on his Lady’s face as a slow smile spread across her lips and the look in her eye turn predatory. Predatory was perfect. He shifted his hand on her waist, the material smooth enough to catch on the skin of his palms. He said, “I don’t follow orders particularly well.” 

“I am glad of that. I danced with three others. It was enough.” She took another sip of her drink and spared a glance for her escort. He was great hulking creature with a touch of grey at the temples. He appeared to have survived so surprisingly long in Dorothea's court by looking not quite intelligent enough to suffer more than the most basic responsibilities. Bond assessed him with a glance: more bodyguard than bedwarmer, meat and muscle to ensure the Lady’s safety in a foreign court. The escort knew his business. His blank expression offered no challenge that Bond would be forced to answer. 

Lady Severine smoothed Bond’s lapels, trailing her fingers down the chain of his pendant and brushing over his Red. “Pay him no attention.” Her nails scraped against the filigree as she stared at his Jewel. She might never have seen one, let alone had a chance to touch one. Dorothea didn’t seem the kind to let people play with her well of power, and the High Priestess of Hayll had killed off anyone even remotely as dark. “He will not interfere.” 

“He follows orders, does he?” Bond captured her hand, lifting it from his Jewel, and pressed a kiss onto the backs of her fingers. 

“Better, it seems, than you. But then unringed Warlord Princes seldom follow orders.” 

Though he kept his outward demeanor pleasant, the open threat in her mention of the Ring of Obedience put an edge on his interest and made him re-evaluate her. Severine sipped from her flute, watching him with heavy lids with her fingers still caught in his hand. 

Bond slipped an edge into his flirtatious, “A law unto myself, isn’t that the expression?” and watched her face for her reaction.

Severine did not answer directly. “I have heard something of you.” Her covetous expression had yet to fade. “Red-Jeweled Warlord Prince of Chaillot, of some renown even in the High Priestess’s Court. The skill to take any territory you choose, yet you languish under contract for a Sapphire Queen who has nearly aged right out of the territory seat.” 

Her tongue darted between her lips as she gave him an appreciative once-over. “If what I have heard of you is true, you could easily be the old woman’s Consort. Rule from the bedroom.” Her fingers twitched within his grip, but Bond kept hold of her. She settled for nudging him suggestively with her hips.

“Her Consort is her husband.” Bond kept his tone amused, moving with the sway of her body and spreading his hand upon her back to bring her in closer. He dropped his voice to a low rumble. “Consort would ill suit me, in any case. A Consort ring comes with the expectation of loyalty.”

The innuendo was not lost on her. Her breath came more swiftly, but still she persisted, “You have no power here. Your skills are wasted. If not here- Raej. Dena Nehele.” Her smile sharpened and her golden eyes found his blue. “Hayll.” 

Releasing her hand, he deliberately misunderstood her. “I fear your mistress has vicious tastes and a penchant for gold rings that I do not share.” Their eyes locked again, a smile ghosted her lips, and she nodded. 

Severine finished her drink and handed it off to a passing waiter. “You need a woman who would appreciate you. No rings involved.” Her hands free, she placed one hand in the center of his chest, her nails pricking his skin through the fabric.

“I am yours for the evening.” He pulled her tight to him so she might feel precisely how intrigued by her he was. The movement startled a bright laugh from her. The hard press of his length against her thigh eased a tension in her shoulders and she glanced behind her toward her dour escort before turning her attention back to Bond. All around them the party continued, their physical flirtations now given a wide berth as it became clear that Bond was at work. 

There was an edge of challenge in Severine’s voice as she said, “Nearer Hayll, an escort would have been assigned me that I would be able to use as I wished.”

“In Chaillot, that honour is reserved for volunteers.” 

“You would volunteer against orders?” Severine pushed her hands up along his shoulders and beneath his suit jacket.

“I can have any territory I want if I only reach out to grasp it, is that not what you said?” 

Her eyebrows rose. “And what if she objects?” 

“Are you going to object?” Bond smiled. 

“I have territory I want as well. Shall we take our negotiations to the table, Prince Bond?”

“May I suggest a bed, instead?” 

The hallway just beyond reach of the party was as far as they got before she yanked him into a messy kiss. Her hands slid beneath his jacket as he pushed her up against the wall. Her ankles hooked behind around his hips and she dug her nails into the flexing muscles of his back. He grasped the back of her thighs and lifted her higher, nibbling down the side of her throat with practiced art. She gasped, loudly, and curled her head down next to his, sinking her teeth into his shoulder. 

He hiked her skirt higher, following her lead, until she released his shoulder and nudged the side of his head with her chin and the center of her focus shifted down the hall. At the cue, he backed away until she caught his hand and glowered at her escort. The brute was unimpressed by their display. 

“Do you have somewhere more private?” She murmured, treating the escort to a haughty smile. “I grow weary of a particular Warlord’s orders.” 

An empty guest room had been prepared for them, carefully scrubbed of psychic scent and laid with Moneypenny’s more clever defensive webs. The door clicked shut and the more subtle ones began to thrum with power that answered to Bond’s Red. Hayll’s penchant for treachery was well known. Even with their precautions, his Red might not even be enough should Severine prove a more clever actress than their sources indicated. 

They barely made it to the bed. Severine shoved Bond down and straddled him, kissing him hard and curling her nails around the back of his neck to make sure he would not be the one to break their embrace. She moved her hips against him, her skirt rucked high enough to expose the lace of her garter and the silk of her panties. His broad hand spanned her waist, thumbs caressing the curves where hips met belly beneath the silk. 

She sighed as she pulled away from the kiss and Bond summoned a lazy smile when her eyes fluttered open. “Shield the room,” she ordered, her voice low and husky and entirely for the benefit of her escort standing just outside the door. 

Bond snapped a Red shield around the room, aural and protective, effectively locking Severine in with him. With her Summer-Sky, if she wanted to leave now, she’d have to kill him or get him to willingly drop the shield.

She felt the shield go up and stilled within his hands. He watched the heat go out of her expression like a candle snuffed. “You know what I want. What you do you want?” Severine straddled him still, unmoving, and she glanced down at his grasp on her. 

Bond remained as he was. “Asylum for your sister.” 

Her pupils contracted as her control faltered, the signs of arousal she had been feigning dropping away. He caught the faint presence of fear in her psychic scent, but when she spoke she kept an iron control over her voice. “I don’t have a sister.” 

“The Gray Lady will take her.”

She was silent for a long time and emotions flickered across her face too fast to name. When she spoke again, she spoke slowly, carefully, “Dena Nehele and all of her inhabitants will be long dust before she can challenge Dorothea. So will you. What do you offer besides empty hope?”

“Time.” Bond said quietly and her nails tightened on the back of his neck, only just not breaking the skin. “Breathing room. Advance your plans without splitting your attention. When the territories fall to Dorothea in a hundred years, two hundred, you’ll have a place for her. Keep Hayll from the short-lived territories for longer and you’ll have the allies you need for when she finally comes of age.”

Licking her lips, Severine glanced at his Jewel. “Allow me to call upon your Red while you still live.” 

Bond’s jaw tightened and did not pull away. Her nails threatened to draw blood. “I am not part of the deal.” 

Severine leaned down speaking directly into Bond’s ear as if the room were not shielded, her breath warm along his neck. “You ask me to defy my High Priestess for the sake of your tiny island and this eyeblink of a Court. You were part of the deal when you were willing to use sex to... encourage a favorable reception of your offer.” She squeezed his hips with her legs to drive home her point. “What’s the difference between your cock and your Jewel that you would balk now?” 

“I will not compromise my Queen.”

“Ensure I live long enough to establish myself as your ally.” Severine rocked back. 

Neither could break eye contact. Bond took deep, deliberate breaths, his hands still on her hips as her nails were still on his neck. 

Bond called in the contract, his expression carefully neutral. Severine released him from her hold and sat back on her heels, shifting so she was sitting on his thighs rather than pressing tight to his groin. Her smile of triumph lasted until she’d read halfway when she snapped her gaze to his face and narrowed her eyes. “You were already included.”

“I follow M’s orders. Not yours.”

After a brief hesitation, Severine nodded, called in a quill, and signed the contract with her own blood. The webs within the parchment activated, their spells writhing and sinking hooks into Severine, drawing on her power. The Red shield contained the burst that anyone with a Jewel would be able to sense. “The spells keep me from speaking of our deal.” She identified their purpose as the spells settled. She sounded almost bored as she shoved herself from the bed and paced to the door. “Your Hourglass Sister anticipates my torture?”

Bond sat on the edge of the bed, holding the contract. “Have you met Dorothea’s son? Even affection does not exempt you from her attentions.” 

“And she doesn’t even like me.” Severine kept her tone light, but she crossed her arms, hugging herself. Taking controlled breaths, she put as much floor space between them as possible.

Bond let her be, calculating the time they’d been inside the shield. While he would hope the longer they waited the more impressed the escort would be, Bond suspected that it would only make the man suspicious. 

“Come here.” She spoke to the door, but Bond obeyed her. He vanished the now-signed contract and slipped up behind her, sliding one hand across her belly and the other across her shoulders. He pulled her back against him and held her. She did not relax for nearly a minute, tension thrumming through the muscles of her shoulders as the spells adjusted, tightening around her mind. Bond soothed the gooseflesh that raised on her arms with gentle hands and kissed the back of her neck. 

He felt the moment when the webs finished setting, their bindings loosening enough to let her breathe. She turned in his grasp and wrapped her arms around his neck. “The contract binds you just as tightly as it does me.” She spoke into the fabric at his shoulder, her self-possession returned enough to make it a threat.

Instead of answering, Bond dropped the Red shield and opened the door. The escort was standing just to the left and his dispassionate once-over took in their disheveled appearances. He did not comment on the shield, nor betray suspicion. Severine laughed at her escort’s dour expression and pulled Bond into a kiss by taking hold of his chin and dragging him to her lips. They began their charade of intimate looks and low laughter, returning to the party after a brief stop in front of the hallway mirror. 

Severine returned to her delegation. The other two witches hid jealousy beneath biting compliments that Bond did not stay to listen to. One tucked a stray lock of hair behind her newly-returned Sister’s ear and he let the other woman’s brush of psychic frustration chase him away. He acquired a drink and kept an eye on Severine from a distance, gauging suspicion as well as he might through observation. 

After a time, Q sidled up next to him. “The Hayllian envoy.”

Bond left his response for long enough that Q looked at him. Bond smiled. “Yes.” 

Q let out his breath all in a rush, relief coloring his words. “I cannot say I’m not glad, but you do manage to make my life difficult.” They shared a grin. “I’ll tell M,” Q said, though he made no move to leave Bond’s side. “And Lady Eve.”

“Gossip.” Bond teased, then his expression shifted. 

Q raised an eyebrow. “James?” 

“She doesn’t have a sister.” Bond said, his gaze returning to Severine across the room. “Of everything she said, that was the only thing that rang entirely true.” 

“Then who or what...” Q trailed off. “Shit.” 

Bond took a long drink, rattling the ice in the bottom of his tumbler when he brought it from his lips. “Even without, though, she accepted. So we’ll see.” 

“I’ll find out why we were wrong.” Q made a low, inarticulate noise of annoyance. “Better to know sooner.”

As Q turned to leave, however, Bond arrested the motion with a light touch on his shoulder.

 _*James.*_ Q sent, the thread vibrating with the force of his amusement. _*You just ensured that we’ve pitted ourselves overtly against the most powerful territory in Terrielle. You won’t be awake when I return to bed.*_

Bond barely gave it a thought. _*Is that a challenge?*_

“Enjoy the party, Prince.” Q said and left. 

Bond rattled the ice in his cup and eyed the dancers speculatively. The night was young and Lady Severine was beckoning him to join her and her Sisters in their small crowd of curious and power-hungry. If nothing else, proving to the Hayllian delegation that he was as harmless as a dark-Jeweled Warlord Prince could be would make for an entertaining evening. Bond saluted the group with his empty drink and started to make his way over. Perhaps if he were clever about it, he’d be awake when Q returned to bed.

**Author's Note:**

> M: Purple-Dusk to Sapphire Queen (Trained Black Widow) - Queen of Chaillot  
> Q: Yellow to Summer-Sky Warlord - M’s Steward.  
> Eve Moneypenny: Tigers-Eye to Purple-Dusk Black Widow - Head of the Chaillot Hourglass coven.  
> James Bond: Opal to Red Warlord Prince - First Circle  
> Severine: Rose to Summer-Sky Priestess - One of Dorothea's pet Priestesses, nominally part of the High Priestess of Hayll's coven.


End file.
